The Passing of Another Year

Years ago I read a theory about how time seems to fly faster and faster the older you get. The reason as it was explained - and it makes perfect sense - is that when you are 1 year old, a year is 100% of your life. As you age, each year becomes a smaller slice of the whole and so seems to pass more quickly. I don't know if it's true but its one of my favorite odd things I've read or know along with the fact that elephants in the wild use a midwife system for giving birth.

It's 21 degrees out and snowing hard here at the moment... only 1-3 inches expected, though, which isn't so bad, I guess and it will look pretty when it's done. Angel looks to be closing out the New Year with a major terrorist run. She was already heading for the stove this morning - a new past time for her. I don't know if she likes hearing me shriek or what. Then she gives me the "Who me? How could you accuse me of such a thing?" face. Tara Grace is her usual virtuous self. Even gave me a kiss this morning... although she did decide I should get up about two hours earlier than I wanted to. This involves a fair amount of gravelly voiced complaints, walking in circles and head butting so that I have to put a pillow over my head to protect myself.

I watched a great movie the other night - my last of the year, I guess. It's an old movie that my therapist had recommended numerous times. When I first added it to my Netfix list, it was "VERY long waiting list" for ages and then "not available." The title - V for Vendetta - put me off so I didn't mourn not seeing it that much. Then it came up again and I checked Netflix and it was there and available. Came to the house and I kept it sitting around for four days (I hate it when I do that... I feel the bargain price ticking away with each day) and then finally put it into the VCR the night before last. GREAT movie! Loved it! Brilliantly written and performed.

On the whole 2008 has been a pretty good year for me. I started my blog in February and have had great fun writing it. It has introduced me to lots of wonderful new people. I got my new camera in March and that has been a daily joy. I've had so much fun with it! Now, thanks to my neighbors, I have a printer/scanner and can run off some of my own and Shannon's pictures and scan in old paper photos before they crumble into dust.

I've made new flesh and blood friends, had my home cosmicly harmonized resonanced (see Dennis Puffett), gotten new pots and pans that really really don't stick.... Speaking of cooking equipment... I have finally conquered my fear of the microwave Nate and Dan found for me. It's old and I think I need to increase the time for things but it works. The house didn't catch fire and nothing blew up. I started out with frozen corn in a packet on Sunday and then last night did a more complicated thing. Not sure that I'm going to be a microwave junkie, but I'm glad I'm not afraid of it any more. But back to 2008. Read some good books - the last of the Harry Potters, The Kite Runner and A Thousand Splendid Suns, the two latest books in the Thomas Covenan series, and Marley and Me among my favorites. I don't read enough any more, but I'm hoping to get back to doing more of that.

What else did 2008 bring my way? Schwans and less stress about getting groceries. Barack Obama and a future with a man of honor and intelligence leading my country. January 20th can't come soon enough. And of course one of the highlights of the year was my nephew's visits, augmented by a keyboard. Angel and Tara Grace have both been healthy. Tara Grace is evolving and seems to be healing both physically and emotionally from her days of abandonment and deprivation. That is such a delight to see.

I know there's a lot I'm forgetting. The Universe has been good to me. It did take away my beautiful tree, but it gave me a 12-year old friend in return. And I learned that my home owner's insurance works. I can't say enough good things about Travellers. They picked up half of the enormous cost - and they were really nice about it. I survived even though the tree didn't.

Anyway, I have much to be grateful for. Even in hard financial times, I'm hanging in there. Next year as my Christmas gift to Shannon, Nate, Dan, Sue and Mary, I'm attuning them to reiki. I have to go back and relearn how to do it, but I'm very excited to be sharing what brings so much joy to me with the five of them... delighted that they love reiki and each asked to learn how to do it. Terrified that I will disappoint them when we have our workshop. Grateful that I have my kind therapist to help me work through that.

I'm deeply troubled by some things - the push back against change and hope - laws against gay marriage, violence in Israel and Palestine and elsewhere in the world. I don't envy our new president the world of trouble he is inheriting, but I'm glad that he is the one inheriting it.

I could probably ramble on and on, but Tara Grace is sitting on my mouse and a Angel is across the room looking for all the world like she's planning something. I'm off to take my shower and then visit around the net... and maybe I'll see if I can finish off the 2nd of the three books my niece Cindy sent me. Amy Tan's latest...

I wish you each and all a gentle, joyful end to 2008. May the new year bring peace and better, kinder days to all of us in this country and around the world. Thanks for visiting my blog, for commenting and encouraging me. It is much appreciated.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

Fable of the Month/Monday Poetry Train

Well, I was trying to decide what to post today and I'm feeling especially lazy and someone asked me to participate (not for the first time) in something called Monday Poetry Train. Luckily for me it seems open to prose and poetry, so I thought - lack of anything else much to share - that I'd post one of the last of my Fable Collection. These were mostly written as part of a writing class I took way back in 1993. We were given an assignment - in this case it was to write about a beaver who had been captured by humans - and this is what I wrote. Doesn't add up to much, but there a few things in it that I kind of like.

BARCLAY'S LAMENT

by

Katherine E. Rabenau

I was born near a meadow filled with birch trees, so my parents named me Barclay. For my middle name they chose Gideon, which means feller of mighty trees. Maybe because I grew up with birches, I've never held much stock in big trees. Big trees are show-off stuff. I've always liked birches for their slimness and flexibility. Birches are builder's trees. You know, all beavers are dam builders. Dams are life to beavers. They are our way of being in the world. But, contrary to popular belief, we're not all equally gifted. Because, you see, there's more to it than just building a shelter. We can all do that. But some things have to be taught. And that's what I do. I guess you could call me a wise one, or what Native Peoples call a shaman. You see, there's got to be Spirit in a good dam, got to be love and harmony and community. A good dam marries earth and water. It speaks to the river and says, "Ho, merry friend, stop, rest awhile and greet your cousin, earth. Embrace her, feed her, and teach her your ways." A good dam builder calls on the tree people for help, for the tree people live on water and earth combined and they have also touched the sky. They know how to sing to the river, to make her pause and bend and listen. But they do not all sing river songs, and those who do only sing when they have been greeted with respect. A wise beaver never takes a tree without permission, for the trees, who touch the sky, hear the wind, the voice of God, and the wind tells them their time and their destiny. Not every tree knows river songs, and the river is not patient with those she cannot understand.

Why am I telling you this? Because something terrible has happened. For a long time, the Beaver people have felt safe in the park lands and that is where we have lived. Now, for some reason, the rangers have declared war on us. They destroy our dams. They take us prisoner. I do not understand it. Right now I am on the run. They shot me with something and put me in a box. I chewed my way out and am heading back to my people, but what do I say to them? The dams are our shelter. But more than that they are our purpose. We were created to help the river and the land speak, to help the tree people fulfill their destiny. The land needs us and the river. The trees need us. Why do these humans wish to interfere with God's plan? I am a peaceful soul, but I must defy them. I must teach us to do so with love, for I do not think the humans mean us any harm, really. They are just ignorant. If we love them, perhaps they will be healed. I must teach my people to build, because we must listen to our hearts and be what we are meant to be. I will teach my people to build dams because the river calls them and the trees cannot do their work without us. I will teach my people to trust their hearts. The hearts of humans tell them something else, something I do not understand. I do not begrudge them their journey, though I pity them that they apparently do not hear the trees and the river call, nor see the loneliness of the land. But they must walk their path and I mine. May God bless us both.

THE END

Shadow Shot Sunday

This is my first time joining in on Shadow Shot Sunday hosted over at Hey Harriet's blog. I took these photos on December 22nd and 23rd. Sunny days have been rare so far this winter. No sun, no shadows, alas.

One Single Impression: Stardust

This week's prompt for One Single Impression is "stardust." Hmmm. Tough one. I've written the poem below in 5-7-5 lines, but they aren't really haiku. I probably should have just written what I wanted to say and left the count out since it isn't coming out very well. But I didn't, so this is what you get.


I tried to present it graphically and you should be able to click on the picture and read the text full size, but just in case...


For Rick

Looking at your face
My eyes were filled with stardust
Though not right away
Hearing your wise voice
My mind awoke to new worlds
Looking in your eyes
My heart broke open at last
You changed who I was
Did you love me back?
Not how I wanted, maybe
But I think you did
Better than romance
(Though that's not what I thought then)
You gave me myself
You saw things in me
Urged me to trust my own voice
To express myself
You nurtured my soul
Got me to speak thoughts aloud
To sing my soul's joy
What a gift you were
Man of unrequited love
What more could I have asked for
You showed me my Self
Not what I wanted
Or at least I wanted more
I wanted passion
I wanted touch and kisses
It seems foolish now
And not so foolish either
Love is what it is
Love is always good
Even when unrequited
It's been many years
Since God reclaimed your goodness
Are you stardust now?
I think you must be
You were stardust then, alive
A healer of lives
Dear beloved friend
You gave me so very much
Stardust in my heart
If not for your love
I don't know who I would be
But I would not be me

I Love you,
Katherine

Random December Photos

My last holiday card. Shannon took this picture of my little house for me

a few weeks ago. I messed with it for fun.

It's another gray damp day here. Probably not as cold as some others we have had but the damp just cuts through me. I'm holding fast to my 60 degree thermostat but feel my resistence to turning the heat up giving way pretty quickly. Somehow there's something about a winter sky that is so much grayer than a gloomy day in summer. I don't have much to say today - well, I actually have something festering in my brain that wants saying but don't quite have the will to say it yet, so today I'm just posting a bunch of not particularly good photos from the past couple of weeks. I had to touch the little squirrel's but since he had a big white spot from the dirt on my window. It has been interesting to watch these little squirrels make tunnels under the snow. I never realized before that they do that. I like that I'm still discovering new things. Keeps life interesting. Anyway, here are some pictures of the chilly outside and the less chilly inside...

I just liked the way the sun hit these weeds. Sort of a silly picture, but...

This was a week ago, I think, one of our few sunny days. Wish I could have caught
the light and the melting better, but I had fun trying.

I tried to make a Christmas card using this picture... didn't come out that good...

You can click on this (and all the pictures to see them bigger if you choose).
The best I could do capturing a sense of my little tree's pretty lights in the dark.
Snow and Shadows
Squirrel
Neighbor's Christmas lights covered in snow.
Tara Grace trying to will me to give her crunchies
(in the green Keebler's tin behind her).
Angel laying claim to our new printer/scanner.

Hope you are having a lovely weekend and recovering from and/or still enjoying the holidays.

Disconnected

Hope you all had a lovely Christmas. The Cyber Gods or Santa or somebody bigger than me saw fit to "disconnect" me from the internet for most of Christmas Eve, all of Christmas Day and and until about 1:45 today. The up side of that is that I read a great book that my niece, Cindy, sent me.... A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Housseini I highly recommend it.

Shannon and her mother came by on Christmas Eve for a visit. Shannon made the plaque pictured above and her parents gave me a printer/scanner so once I get it plugged in, I can scan all my old photos and other things. I'm REALLY thrilled and dumbfounded at such a lavish gift. Too cool. The girls got their own cardboard castle.
Angel chose Christmas Eve to break a treasured little ceramic bowl that I've had for 40 years. In this case it was more my fault than hers but such is life.

Not much else to report. I have to go catch up on a half million old emails (slight exaggeration), but just wanted to say "hi." I think yesterday was the first day I have not posted since I started my blog.

Ho, Ho, Ho

I wish everyone joy celebrating and rejoicing in their respective traditions. May you all be wrapped in the love of family and friends, music, good food. May your memories of holidays past be tender and comforting. May those we have lost be found in our hearts and may we all know always that we are held in the arms of Divine Love no matter what name we give to it. God/Love is multi-lingual and infinitely creative.

Wishing you Peace and Joy and All Good Things.

Happy Holidays

Battling the holiday blues a bit. Since Chanukah starts today, I thought I'd post my first holiday "ecard." I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday. I put a little red into this. If I stop feeling sorry for myself, I may use that as a cheat to do Ruby Tuesday.

One Single Impression: A Winter's Day

This week's prompt for One Single Impression is "A Winter's Day." We are having one here on this Winter Solstice day. We had about 8 inches of snow yesterday and we're having more as I type. I'm not very happy with my haiku. I couldn't seem to find my voice this morning - that and a number of distractions - mean I'm posting this quite late. The sun has come out since this morning, though, which is nice. Snow looks pretty even if there is too much of it.





The last photo and poem are about six years old and date to when I first moved back East after a difficult stay in Arizona. (If you click on the photo, you can see the curve sign. It is a very sharp curve indeed.)


CURVES IN THE ROAD

Snow like white shade on naked trees
Lakeside beauty: Cold. Clear. Still.
And I sit here angry and sad
Not knowing why I am ready - but unable - to cry
Grey kitty howls my blues for me and I scold her
She is demanding my attention
Not just to her but to myself
She is smart this old grey girl
Her twenty years of life have taught her a thing or two
More than my fifty-four have taught me, I'm afraid.
So I scowl at her instead of crying
Tell her quite unkindly to "SHUT UP!"
Then go back to what I do worst and best
Feeling restless and lost and rather sorry for myself
Outside the wind blows snow off the trees
And the twenty mile an hour curve sign
Is blurred through the glass
But makes me think that maybe there's a lesson here
I'm wanting to race past these feelings that are coming up in me
These emotional sharp curves
When what I really need to do is slow down and take heed.

~ Katherine Rabenau

Saturday Wordzzle Challenge: Week 44

Yikes! I almost forgot it was Friday! This is week 44 of the Saturday Wordzzle challenge. Anyone new to the process can refer back here to find out how it works. I had a hard time with the mega this week.... Not happy with my results this week, but such is life and it's only a game and...

I’m thinking that everyone is probably going to be busy with the holidays for the next couple of weeks so maybe we should take a break and return to Wordzzles in the New Year on January 9^th/10^th.

The words for this week's ten word challenge were: When pigs have wings, Moonlight, Mystery, Tower of Babel, Butterflies, Bread and butter, Beef barley soup, Charley horse, Novelty, Cold shoulder Mini Challenge: Software, Lottery, Newspaper, Mailman, Ringo Starr’s drum

Here's my ten-word offering for this week:

The Tower of Babel club was hosting its annual Moonlight Mystery weekend at the Old Spangler mansion. Mortimer Spangler had made his fortune selling novelties and his fame exploring discovering a new species of butterfly. Rumor had it that the mansion was haunted but nobody really believed it. It was Charley Horse’s turn to be in charge of the event. Everyone should have known it would be a disaster. Charley was cheaper than Jack Benny pretended to be. So when the main course for the mystery dinner turned out to be beef barley soup and bread and butter, there was general grumbling and talk that perhaps it should be a real murder this year and not just a pretend one. Charley was oblivious, of course, until Margie Winslop, who until now this occasion had been flirting shamelessly with him, gave him a glacially cold shoulder and responded to his request for a date by saying “when pigs have wings and not even then.” Once the Spartan meal was behind them, however, the event went splendidly. Charley not only got his date with Margie but ended up married to her. The club members forgave him, but he was never ever allowed to plan the meal portion of an event again.

And here's my mini challenge:

Sam Martinez had been content enough working as a mailman, though the strain on his knees and back had begun to tell of late. He had been working since he could remember, delivering newspapers on his bike starting when he was seven. Now suddenly he was a lottery winner, able to live some of the dreams he had never thought possible – a home of his own (and one for his parents), a fancy computer with all the software anyone could ever dream of having… and best of all a special gift for his father… a signed replica of Ringo Starr’s drum – signed by the man himself, along with tickets to London and a live performance featuring his life-long hero. Finally a Christmas gift his father would like. Life was good.

And for the mega challenge:

Harvey Hegglemeyer, the software genius – he had been written up in the national newspapers - and creator of three best selling games (called respectively Butterflies in the Moonlight: A Mystery; Tower of Babel; and When Pigs Have Wings) had a weakness for catalog shopping. It was a good thing that his genius earned him truckloads of money because he tended to spend his fortune almost as fast as he earned it. His favorite catalog was called Charley Horse Novelties and he waited eagerly each month for the mailman to deliver it to his door. It offered a range of unique products which included things like (allegedly) Ringo Starr’s Drum and other rare collectibles which were sometimes sold by lottery. His other favorite catalog was Cold Shoulder Organics which provided him with his favorite foods stuffs, among them Happy Hoof Beef and Barley Soup, a dazzling assortment of breads and butters (all organic), and some of the best “home made” jams a man could dream of tasting. Of course they sold popcorn and chips and even organic wines and fresh vegetables too. Harvey hardly ever went to the grocery store any more. Amazingly, there was even romance attached to his catalogs because he had written to the Janna Janes, the editor of Cold Shoulder only to discover that she was incredibly beautiful and a kindred spirit besides. They had exchanged first letters, then phone calls and when they had met a few months later, it was love at first sight. They were to be married in June. He had ordered his tux from his favorite clothing catalog. Janna had thought that was a bit too much catalog shopping, but she loved him enough to overlook it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This week's vanity wordzzle used the words: monastery, cyclone, corncob, tenacious, rat, be-bop, Marxist, tingle, fraction

It had been a bit of a leap, going from being a Marxist to being an initiate at a Jesuit Monastery, but Edgar Martin - or Brother Eustacius as he was now called - had always been a man of wild extremes and divergent interests. During his pre-Marxist years he had studied classical violin at Julliard, but several years into his studies had decided he preferred the freer rhythms of Be-bop. Then one evening, returning home from a gig in the Bronx, he had gotten lost and had stumbled on a ragged, starving street person fighting a rat for a half-eaten corncob. Like a cyclone, that scene had spun him around and lifted him out of his complacent middle class world forever. He had become tenacious in his passion to eradicate such scenes, such injustice from the face of the earth. He had tried social work first, but it was not enough, was too slow, too mired in bureaucracy and hypocrisy. Marxism had proven to be no better, so now he had moved on to the Church. The fire to bring hope and healing tingled and burned and churned inside him. He could not still it. He had faced the reality that on the material plane, he could accomplish barely a fraction of what was needed, so he had decided to throw his lot in with the Almighty. It was said that prayers and faith could move mountains, so maybe they could move human hearts as well. He would try. At least he could do that much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Week's Ten Word Challenge will be: We were born on the same day in the same hospital, Weeping willow, Two for one sale, Highway robbery, Burial ground, roll of paper towels, gospel singer, gallows, weirdo, volcano

Mini Challenge: Symbiosis, Sagging breasts, Navaho blanket, Frogmen, Who says I got no heart?

Thanks for playing. For those who are new, here are some guidelines to make the process more fun.

Enjoy!

See you in TWO weeks.

DON'T FORGET TO ADD YOUR NAME TO MR. LINKY!!!!!

Tagged and Borrowed: Memes

Peppy Lady tagged me yesterday to do a meme called 5 Things. I think that's what it's called. Anyway you have to list 5 things you do every day that make your life better.

I don't know that I DO five things. There are a couple that I can lay claim to... I'm going to stretch the first one into two...

1. I give thanks for my blessings - listing them - every morning when I wake up.

2. I give thanks for my blessings - listing them - every evening when I go to sleep.

3. About a month ago, I started going to bed earlier so that I'm getting an additional 1-2 hours of sleep. This is a really good idea. I highly recommend it to everyone.

4. I usually take some pictures, though I can't say for sure that I do that EVERY day.

5. I play with the cats and give them attention. This make my life better in two ways... it's fun to a degree and it keeps Angel out of trouble.

I never tag people.... so that's it from me for this one.

******************************************

I saw a much longer meme - the Layer Meme - over at Jeff's and I found his answers entertaining so I thought maybe I'd give it a go too since my creativity seems to have fled the country for warmer climes.


Layer One:
- Name: Raven
- Birth date: July 10, 1947
- Birthplace: Bronx, New York
- Current Location: Upstate, New York
- Eye color: Blue-gray and occasionally green (so I'm told)
- Hair Color: Medium brown with red highlights (in the sun) and now some gray too.
- Height: 5 feet 4 inches last time I was measured. I have probably shrunk some.
- Righty or Lefty: Righty, though I have tried from time to time to learn to write left-handed.
- Zodiac sign: Cancer

Layer Two:
- Your Heritage: Scotch, Irish, German, mostly German, I guess, though.
- The shoes you wore today: Crocs today and every day.
- Your weakness: Just one? Over-eating is probably the worst one but there are so many. Self hate is another.
- Your fears: Pretty much everything.
- Your perfect pizza: Well if it has a thin, crunchy crust and lots and lots of cheese, I'm really happy. I don't mind onions and peppers and stuff like that too.
- Goal you’d like to achieve: Finish a children's book I started called Amanda and the Cookie Witch and get my poetry and other things published.

Layer Three:
- Your most overused phrase on AIM: Not that big on AIM. Probably LOL.
- Your best physical feature: No idea... probably my eyes or my smile.
- Your most missed memory: I forget.

Layer Four:
- Pepsi or Coke: Neither
- McDonald's or Burger King: Don't know... McDonald's I guess. Don't have either of them often.
- Single or group dates: I never leave the house.
- Adidas or Nike: No idea.
- Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: Both
- Chocolate or vanilla: Chocolate. I really like raw chocolate now. It's more eco-friendly and better for you.
- Cappuccino or coffee: Coffee... I don't drink it that often these days but I get free market coffee now.

Layer Five:
- Smoke: No... I tried it briefly in college because I wanted to seem cool. Everybody laughed at me.
- Cuss: Yup.
- Sing: Love to sing. My voice isn't what it used to be which is frustrating.
- Take a shower everyday: Not these days. I don't exercise that much and I never leave the house, so it really isn't necessary and it's something of a physical challenge.
- Do you think you’ve been in love: Yes
- Want to go to college: Did that in the 1960s.
- Liked high school: Not especially
- Want to get married: Yep... How pathetic is that at my age.
- Believe in yourself: Once in a while
- Get motion sickness: Nope
- Think you’re attractive: Nope
- Think you’re a health freak: Nope... self destructive... though I love doing/sending reiki so in that sense I guess I'm a health freak.
- Get along with your parents: They are long dead now, but while they were alive, self-destructively so. I wish I had been wise enough to be more rebellious at a younger age.
- Like thunderstorms: When they are far away. I have some lovely memories from my time in Arizona, sitting with the lights off and watching the beautiful storms.
- Play an instrument: Clarinet and Piano... though I haven't touched the clarinet in years and have only just started piano again thanks to my kind nephew.

Layer Six: (In the past six months)
- Drank alcohol: No, though I have craved it.
- Smoked: Didn't you already ask this? Anyway. No.
- Done drugs: Nope
- Made out: Alas, no.
- Gone on a date: Alas, no.
- Gone to the mall: Hard to do when you live in the middle of nowhere and never leave the house.
- Eaten an entire box of Oreos: Saved by the time frame... nope... not lately. - Eaten sushi: Not in the past six months, but had a couple of lovely meals when I was in AZ.
- Been on stage: Not lately.
- Been dumped: Not lately. Haven't even been picked up so I could be dumped.
- Gone skating: Nope.
- Made homemade cookies: Nope. But have been having wonderful memories of Christmas cookies past.
- Gone skinny dipping: Not bloody likely even if I was skinny and beautiful which I'm not.
- Dyed your hair: Thought about it.
- Stolen anything: Nope

Layer Seven: Have you ever. . .
- Played a game that required removal of clothing: Nope
- Been trashed or extremely intoxicated: Unfortunately, yes... long ago... Still bothers me.
- Been caught “doing something”: Nope. Boy, am I boring.
- Been called a tease: I wish.
- Gotten beat up: Nope, unless you count psychological brutality... if that counts, most of my childhood and well into my 30s. - Shoplifted: Nope, though when I was young in Massapequa, the stores used to follow my friends and me around as though we were master criminals.
- Changed who you were to fit in: Probably, though not consciously.

Layer Eight:
- Age you hope to be married: ?????
- Names of children: It's a bit late for that.
- Describe your dream wedding: Small gathering of close friends in a beautiful setting... and I get to have a really pretty dress and pretty flowers, good food and good music and lots of laughter.
- Where do you want to go to college: Been there, done that. Might have chosen a different school if I had it to do over again, but that ship sailed.
- What do you want to be when you grow up: A published writer and winner of Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes... RICH.
- What country would you most like to visit: Hard one. Japan, India, Tahiti...

Layer Nine:
- Number of drugs taken illegally: One... but I was never very good at inhaling since I wasn't a smoker
- Number of people I could trust with my life: An amazing number, actually. I am very blessed.
- Number of CD’s that I own: I have no idea. Not as many as I'd like to.
- Number of piercings: one on each ear
- Number of tattoos: Not me... no way
- Number of times my name has appeared in the newspaper: Two or three.
- Number of scars on my body: Three or four... not really sure.
- Number of things in my past I regret: Too many to count... But then again I am who I am because of my mistakes and misfortunes as much as though their opposites.

Whew! Finished. Guess that's it for the moment.

Oh.. It's Shannon's Birthday - she is TWELVE today - so I thought I'd post a few of her pictures.

This is the looking down our street from just above my house.

One of her kitties... I think this one is named Snuffy.

Close-up of a bear carving in their yard. Great shot, isn't it?

Ring the Bells of Peace

I get emails from someone/something called EnlightenNext. I have to confess that I don't always bother opening them but tonight something told me to read the email and I'm glad I did. I've posted the song and the text of the email.

Salman Ahmad, guitarist and lead singer of the popular Pakistani rock band Junoon, is a musician on a mission to promote world peace and give a more progressive face to Islam. We first discovered his work when we saw his 2003 documentary film, The Rock Star and the Mullahs, in which he boldly squared off with fundamentalists in his native Pakistan who deemed his music haram, or forbidden, according to Islamic law. (You can read our article about him here and watch the talk he gave at one of our EnlightenNext centers here.) Now Ahmad has teamed up with Grammy Award–winning artist Melissa Etheridge to record a song for this holiday season titled “Ring the Bells,” which he describes as “a cry for peace and change in a world of war and chaos.” In collaboration with Deepak Chopra's Alliance for a New Humanity, Ahmad and Etheridge have dedicated this Sunday, December 21, as a day for people around the world to take a meditative moment to put the song's title into action.

Hope we can send good thoughts out to the Universe and ring our bells on Sunday at noon. Maybe some of you who are church goers can enlist your Congregations to participate as well.

Peace!

Elf-ed

I don't usually mention these landmarks, but Angel and Tara Grace decided to help me celebrate my 400th post today with a little dance. (My sidebar says 389 but my dashboard says 400. I'm not going to count them.) I discovered JibJab and elfing thanks to my wonderful niece Cindy.

Alas, this little video will vanish into cyber oblivion on January 15th. Probably just as well. But it made me laugh and hopefully will do the same for you as well.

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Portrait of Words

It's mid-December, time for Jeff B's monthly Portrait of Words Challenge. Jeff offers a set of photos - each with a specific assignment: three wild cards, only one of which must be used, a purpose, a main character, and one essential item. The challenge is to craft a story incorporating these photos. Not so easy. Please visit Jeff's blog, A Word in Edgewise, to read his story and then follow Mr. Linky to all the clever stories written by other participants.

THE GAMBLE

Vegas was Nicky Johnson's last hope to save the buildings he had nurtured for his whole adult life. He was the antithesis of a slum lord. Fifty years earlier when he had inherited - at the tender age of 21 - three buildings on New York's Lower East Side, he had been mortified by the squalid conditions. He had known his father was a cold and distant man, but he had not begun to imagine that anyone- let alone his own father - could in good conscience take money from people when he was letting them live in such deplorable conditions. So at twenty-one, he had taken it upon himself to atone for his father's sins. He had enlisted the tenants to help clean the place up, paying them for their labor and refusing to take any rent from them until the buildings were pristine and beautiful. Every apartment was painted, re-floored and given new windows and appliances. Working alongside them, he had grown to love these people whom his father had treated as so much refuse. He become an uncle or father-figure to many of the children, insuring that they got educations. He found his beloved wife Cora Anne among these struggling people. He had fallen in love with her passion for justice and beauty and change. She had spurned his advances initially, not taking them seriously until he presented her with two dozen of the most beautiful yellow roses she had ever seen...

For 55 years they had been blissfully happy. In the last five years, she had faced down cancer with her usual courage and good humor. Six months ago, she had died as she lived - with matter-of-fact honesty. She had had the courage to both laugh and to cry. Even though it was she battling cancer, it seemed to him that it was she caring for him and not the other way around. She had been an awesome woman, an awesome human being. He had loved her with his whole being. He had no doubt that she was safe in God's arms now. How could God manage with out her? They had been so blessed - and he still was. After his Cora died - quietly, smiling in his arms whispering that it would be ok - the tenants - the huge extended "family" they had created with their love and generosity, swooped in and held him up as he had so often held them up in dark times. They had sat with him, cried with him, remembered with him. They had brought him yellow roses and prepared meals for him. They had kept him going.

Alas, in the last days of Cora's illness and the months afterwards he had not been paying attention to the stock market, had not seen the disaster coming. Now his life's work, the well-being of own home and that of so many other families was imperiled. He knew gambling was a fool's risk, but it seemed to him the only way. If that didn't work, well he would find a way to join Cora and let his life insurance protect the buildings. He had already groomed young Willie Norris to be caretaker and since he and Cora left no heirs, his will left the properties to the tenants. Perhaps that would be best. But he knew Cora would be angry with him for thinking like that.

He knew others would think him crazy, but he felt her with him today. They had honeymooned at this hotel... in this room. He would have dinner with her - well, with her presence - and in the morning he would go downstairs and with some luck and maybe his late wife's help - he would save his buildings. He had ordered yellow roses, candles and dinner for two. He was being fanciful, not crazy. Lighting a candle, he raised poured a glass of her favorite wine and raised it to her empty chair. "Cora, babe... I need your help... The whole family needs your help. Unless I can win big tonight, we'll lose the buildings and all our lifetime of work, making a home for them will be destroyed. I'm going to gamble tonight for the first - and hopefully the last - time in my life. Watch over me. Blow on the dice, turn them over... do what you can to help. And if I lose, forgive me for what I must do. I love you."

Dinner over, he picked up the phone and talked to his banker... Tomorrow he would head downstairs to the roulette tables and bet everything he had left to his name in an effort to save his buildings. He was frightened, but he felt Cora with him. It would be OK, he thought. He had an angel on his side and she would not let him fail. He would save the buildings and then... one day soon, he would join her and together they would watch over all those they loved. For tonight, though, he would sleep with the sweet scent of yellow rose petals on his pillow and he would dream of Cora's arms.

THE END

Petitions and One-Clicks

More gray skies here in Upstate New York and more blahs here in my little house. Angel and Tara Grace don't have the blahs, though. We just played a rousing game of run and jump and bat the mouse on the string. I have to hide the darn thing and Angel torments me for it almost constantly. Even Tara Grace is addicted to it... a huge step for Tara. Anyway, it's carefully hidden away again.

I'm a big fan of care2.com. They do a lot of good and it doesn't take much effort. One of my favorite things is their daily one-click section where you can click through a series of posts to help stop global warming, save the rain forest, buy habitat for big cats, save baby seals, the ocean, help primate research, rescue children, help pets, prevent violence against women and contribute to breast cancer research. And all it takes is about 3-5 minutes of your day depending on how fast your computer works. They also have a petition site where you can sign petitions for a variety of good causes like this one urging Congress to take action to stop global warming. I've posted the link below.

Here's the link for the NRDC Action Fund.

And here's a link to Care2.com's Petition Site where you can sign a petition to Congress asking them to take action to Stop Global Warming.

If this gets you in the spirit of clicking, you can always head over to The Hunger Site and the other GreaterGood.com one-clicks. You can give 1.1 cups of food to the hungry each day and it only takes a second. Associated links also donate to cancer research, child health, child literacy, the rainforest and animal welfare. You can also do some Christmas shopping here if you like. Most purchases also provide 25 cups of food for the hungry or food for animals or... Worth checking out.

So that's my thoughts for the day... at least for the moment. Photos today are of indoor wildlife.

One Single Impression: Distractions

This week's prompt for One Single Impression was "distractions."

I meant to write more
But so many distractions
This is all I have

Although some say no
I think distractions are good
Not always maybe
But sometimes the unplanned road
Leads to amazing wonders

~~~~~~~~~~~

I procrastinate
And few things delight me more
Than good distractions

~~~~~~~~~~~

Distraction's two-faced
It can steal needed focus
But sometimes it helps
To numb the edges of pain
So we can bear to go on

Saturday Wordzzle Challenge: Week 43

This is week 43 of the Saturday Wordzzle Challenge. Anyone new to the process can refer back here to find out how it works. Despite how difficult this week's words were, I had a lot of fun doing it this week. This may be because I did it on Wednesday morning instead of waiting until late Friday afternoon when the pressure to get them posted feels overwhelming. Hope you all had fun.

The words for this week's ten word challenge were: Horny as a toad, Frankenstein’s sister, Greeks bearing gifts, Holiday, Cheese grater, Gridlock, Drip dry, Coffin maker, movie mogul, Turkish coffee Mini Challenge: prenuptial agreement, The purple cow just hated the orange cat, potato chips, sari, Hammer and nails

Here's my ten-word offering for this week:

Being a coffin maker was not exactly the most alluring profession in the world. Unlike being a movie mogul or some other romantic profession, it did not make you a chick magnet. Magnus Gridlock was bored, depressed and horny as a toad. He was tired of measuring bodies and wearing drip dry shirts and being polite and careful. So when his cousin Dimitri suggested an all expense paid holiday in Istanbul, he completely forgot the old adage to beware of Greeks bearing gifts (to which his mother had always added the codicil, “especially if they are your cousin Dimitri”). You would think that by now he would have learned. One minute he had been eating Backlava and sipping some very fine Turkish coffee and then suddenly his cousin was nowhere to be seen and a woman who could only be described as Frankenstein’s sister was coming after him waving something that looked like a cheese grater. She seemed to be under impression that he was going to marry her as did a collection of equally large and menacing family members and a small trembling person who appeared to be a priest. As he unhappily became the groom of Frankenstein, Magnus knew whose coffin he would be making next. Dimitri’s days were numbered.

And here's my mini challenge:

“Hammers and nails, hammers and nails… I will thump the bastard on the head with hammers and nails” Chandra muttered angrily as she read through the prenuptial agreement her once beloved fiancé had presented her with only a day earlier. Cramming a handful of potato chips into her mouth without tasting them, she neither noticed nor cared about the large grease stain on her beautiful sari. “Pah!” she muttered angrily. “He is not the man I thought he was. And his mother… that woman – I call her the purple cow - just hated the orange cat, but who would have thought he would let her make getting rid of my beloved Mandrake part of the wedding agreement. Anything else, I could have forgiven, but not that. He can have that mean-spirited purple cow of a mother. I will find love elsewhere. Husbands come and go, but the love of a good kitty is irreplaceable.”

And for the mega challenge:

On holiday in Crete, Frankenstein’s sister (Pasha knew that was what her beloved Gridkins called her, but she didn’t care since while it had initially been intended pejoratively, he now said it with deep love and affection) sat sipping a cup of Turkish coffee and nibbling some greasy potato chips. She was thinking longingly of her beloved Magnus Gridlock, the former coffin maker. He had married her against his will, muttering under his breath something about Greeks bearing gifts and cheese graters. After the initial shock, things had gone well, though, and they had even grown to love each other. It had helped that they had both been (as Americans put it) as horny as toads, and, as it turned out very sexually compatible. From the very start, she had loved watching him work on the coffins, loved the way his hands held the hammer and nails and created beautiful wooden boxes in which to put the dead. Coffin making had seemed a waste of his talents and she knew he was bored and unfulfilled, so she had spoken to a movie mogul friend of her family and had gotten him a job working as a set designer in Hollywood. He had never been happier and had taken to it like a duck to water. He had been nominated for an Oscar for sets he created for his first film which had the odd name The Purple Cow Just Hated the Orange Cat. It was the story of a poor young Indian woman who had foregone marriage to a wealthy man because she loved her cat but who had then met and fallen in love with a veterinarian from and even wealthier family and had lived happily ever after. Chandra, the author and star of the film had taken to Magnus and Pasha and had shown them the wonders of her native India, even teaching Pasha to wear a sari and weaning Magnus of his addiction to drip dry shirts. Unfortunately, while in India Magnus fallen under the sway of a guru there and between movie assignments, spent much of his time at the ashram. Pasha had no desire to follow this path and deeply missed the simpler days when Magnus was a poor and not so happy coffin maker. It was too late, she sighed, for a prenuptial agreement… and probably this turn of events could not have been predicted in any case.

~~~~~~~~~~~

This week's vanity wordzzle used the words: beads, shadow, magazine, guard, memory, heart, poultice, half moon, sound of surf, tummy

Sitting in shadow under the canopy of her cottage's small porch, Melinda rocked quietly, lulled by the sound of the surf and the beauty of gulls silhouetted against the rich blue sky, floating between the white half moon and the dark, diamond-studded waves. She fingered the small beads of her necklace as though it were a rosary. She must not let the beauty lull her too far. She must guard her heart and mind against memory. She had thought coming here would help, but it had not. She held an unread magazine against her empty, childless tummy like a poultice. Why had God done this to her, taken both Evan and their unborn child? The loss was too much to bear and all this beauty seemed an insult to her grief.

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Next Week's Ten Word Challenge will be: When pigs have wings, Moonlight, Mystery, Tower of Babel, Butterflies, Bread and butter, Beef barley soup, Charley horse, Novelty, Cold shoulder

Mini Challenge: Software, Lottery, Newspaper, Mailman, Ringo Starr’s drum

Thanks for playing. For those who are new, here are some guidelines to make the process more fun.

Enjoy! See you next week.

DON'T FORGET TO ADD YOUR NAME TO MR. LINKY!!!!!

Skywatch Friday

It's Skywatch Friday (Thursday, actually) again. Not my usual gazillion photos this week, just 5... There are gazillions out there, though. Just check out all the other skywatchers at the link above and you'll see lots of glorious sunsets and sunrises and clouds and other wonderful sky scenes. The first people to visit have commented on the shots of the moon... that is actually the sun. That's how gloomy it has been around here this week. Looks pretty, though, doesn't it?

I know they look like moon shots, but these last two shots are the sun.

Happy Skywatch Thurdsay/Friday!

Just Some Pictures

Don't much feel like writing anything today. It is the third or 4th day of gray gloomy skies. Not as cold as it has been. In fact it's raining and the snow is all melted and washed away. But it is still gray and gloomy and damp and I want some sunshine. So anyway, I have the blahs. Here are a few photos I took over the past few days. Not doing WW because it feels like too much work.

Ruby Tuesday

It's Ruby Tuesday ( hosted by Mary/ the Teach at Work of the Poet) . Probably I should hold back on Christmasy things. It's only December 9th and there's not much left and two more Tuesdays before Christmas, but I seem to be all Christmas driven very early for me. Alas, Christmas in my little house is kind of limited to my little tree which remains undecorated because of Angel's penchant for destruction and the fact that 7 moves pretty much finished off the few ornaments I had left. So... we are kind of stretching for holiday reds. But here we go anyway. Posting this late and trying to keep to my new sleep schedule. I'll visit everyone tomorrow.


I asked a couple of the reiki bears to pose with the Christmas Moose. Angel, of course, felt a need to stick her nose into things - literally. Unlike his flamboyant friend Pierre who posed for my second Ruby Tuesday post ages back, Raphael (the gray bear) is pretty reserved. It was not easy persuading him to put the Santa hat on or to pose for the more introspective photo below this one. Raph is really pretty special, so I'm glad he agreed to participate. He's full of reiki and pretty much everyone who meets him wants to hold him and not let go.

Raphael Emmamuel Bear, Pierre le Bear, and the Christmas Moose...
with she who must put herself into every photo.

Raphael Emmanuel Bear

This angel is blue, but she was a gift from my friend Dan
for the top of my tree. Since I'm keeping her grounded (see yesterday's post),
I thought I'd give her some extra publicity. Notice the red of my first
Christmas card of the year - hand delivered by Shannon.

An effort to catch the lights on my little tree being red and glowy.
I'm desperate for reds. What can I say?

My neighbor's Christmas lights. The first two years I was here they had a
big sleigh thing that they put out as well. I miss it.

Dan is working very hard to make me Christmasy. He gave me this sweet
sign for my front door... and made me hang it even before Thanksgiving
(by the way - the gray lump on the right... Angel who refused to move).

Happy Ruby Tuesday! And to all a good day!

Brrrrrrrrrr

Poor little guy.... I think he's feeling the cold.

Bitterly cold here - 19 degrees F. - and not an original thought in my head, so I thought I'd borrow the Christmas Meme from Linda at These are the Days. So... here goes... The original had 23 questions, which just seems like an odd number of questions, so I added two extras at the end to bring it to 25.


1.Wrapping paper or gift bags? Mostly gift bags these days, though my financial situation means I don't give many gifts and what I do are often sent from the source so they come neither wrapped nor in gift bags. This really stinks because I LOVE buying/giving gifts. I just love it.


2. Real tree or artificial? Artificial. I really miss the smell of the real thing. When I still went out in the city in my last years, even though I didn't put up a tree because of the cats, I hit the tree sellers up for the branches they cut off other trees. I could usually make them look pretty good and they gave the smell of Christmas. Then I harvested the needles for incense. This year Nate gave me a new cyber optic tree. I don't decorate it because you-know-who would feel compelled to undo it anyway. Makes Christmas easy.... plug and unplug.


3. When do you put up the tree? Traditionally, I've been one of those people who puts her tree up a week or days before Christmas. This year - I plugged her in on Thanksgiving and am enjoying the twinkling lights every evening.


4. When do you take the tree down? Well, I tend to leave it up through Orthodox Christmas on January 6th. Since my new tradition has me plugging in earlier, maybe I'll unplug earlier. Or not.


5. Do you like eggnog? Alas, as with all things that are fattening and not good for me, I love egg nog, spiked or unspiked.


6. Favorite gift received as a child? My memory of my childhood is pretty fragmented. I don't really know if I had a favorite gift. I remember getting a doll one year that I named Leslie but I don't remember much else about her. As an adult, my favorite gift would probably have been my first kitty - Katrina. She was a gift that kept on giving and brought me joy beyond measure.


7. Do you have a nativity scene? Yes. I keep it up all year just because I like it. It's not very traditional. When I worked for the Lutheran Church in America, one of my co-workers was a former missionary to Liberia. She gave me my little hand carved set. They got kind of disrespectfully pushed to one side during the book give-away and are currently in a huddle on the corner of the shelf. Maybe they are planning something.


8. Hardest person to buy for? I used to be REALLY good at gift buying. I was the source for ideas in my family and I was brilliant at it (if I do say so myself). (Sorry, that was immodest, but I was.) Alas, lack of funds and distance make me not so good at it any more, though I have my moments. Probably my nephew is hardest because I can't afford any of the things I'd like to give him...


9. Easiest person to buy for? These questions are making me feel all Grinchy. Everyone would be easy to buy for if I had some funds. And it isn't that I'd necessarily spend a fortune, I just don't have anything much to spend. What I do buy, I try to buy from places like the Hunger Site at Greater Good.com, so that what I spend also gives 25 cups of food to people who are truly in need. That doesn't answer the question, but... Maybe the answer is "myself." (How awful and Scroogy is that?)


10. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? No such thing. (Well, there probably is, but I don't remember it and I love that someone even thinks of me. That's the real gift, isn't it?)


11. Mail or email Christmas cards? Email these days with a few snail mail cards for those I can't email.


12. Favorite Christmas Movie? Well, hard to say. The old Alistair Sim "A Christmas Carol," is one... and of course "It's a Wonderful Life." And I have to admit that I like "The Santa Claus" with Tim Allen.


13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? varies


14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? I may have passed things on, but I don't think I've ever given something as though it was anythong but passed on. I think it's better to give something to someone else if you think they'd like it, than to stick it in a closet, though.


15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? cookies... especially the kind my mother made, though since she is long gone, I don't get those any more and am not ambitious enough to make them on my own. I should add that my niece Cindy bakes very fine cookies - as good or almost as good (subjective emotion here - I helped my mother make her cookies) my mother's. Some years she even sends me some.


16. Clear lights or colored on the tree? Colored... and blinking if I get my way, though I like a mix of flashing and solid so there's always something lit.


17. Favorite Christmas song? I always have a hard time with favorite anythings. There are so many. Among my favorites are some lesser known carols... "Rise Up Shepherd and Foller," is beautiful. "Oh Come, Oh, Come, Emmanuel," "Angels We Have Heard on High,"... heck... most all of them...


18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? home, obviously, since I never leave.


19. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer? Rudolph, Donner, Blitzen, Dancer, Dasher, Comet... guess not... is there one called Vixen? (probably not).


20. Angel on the tree top or a star? To be honest, I'm not that big on tree toppers. My friend Dan just brought me a pretty angel for the top of my tiny tree. I hope I don't hurt Dan's feelings, but I think I'm just going to have her stand in front of it and keep the Christmas moose company. She looks pretty there and Moose gets lonely fending off the 4-legged Angel. Although, guess who knocked the tree off the desk last night. Not Angel, not Tara Grace. Me. Sigh.


21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? Well, it's kind of a non-issue these days since I am all there is for Christmas and I usually know what I've given myself, but traditionally, growing up we opened one on Christmas Eve and the rest Christmas morning.
.

22. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Commercialism.


23. What I love most about Christmas? I love the music. I love giving gifts. I love the smells and colors and the general spirit of good cheer attached to the idea of Christmas, if not it's execution. But most of all, I love the music.


and my two added questions...


24. What do YOU most want for Christmas this year? Well, I could say world peace and financial well-being for all people throughout the world and joy and peaceful well-being for all my real and cyber-friends (and I do wish those things)... But... on the more crass and venal side... Besides a big check from Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes, I really want a new TV.


25. Any last thoughts? Yes... I wish you all Peace and Joy in the holiday season and always. Thank you for visiting my blog, for your encouragement and support.

Nothing Much

Don't have anything much to say today and the doodles prompt from OSI has left me doodle-less and idealess, so... here is a little video of our president-elect and some pictures. Anybody who is really bored can read my serial short story which starts here.

Guess I do have one thing to say. My friend Ellie Sarty is a really gifted singer/songwriter. She just released a new album called Constant as the Sun. Her first album - Top of the Food Chain - is available at Amazon.com. You can hear clips there and the separate songs can be downloaded for MP3. A couple of her songs were featured in a Documentary called Peaceable Kingdom along with songs by Moby and others. Everything Ellie does is geared towards animal rescue and education about humane living and the procedes from both of her albums go towards that end. Great holiday gift.... I wish I had access to a good graphic of her new CD's cover. My friend Rosalie did it and it's beautiful.

Shannon Dermody took this picture of Tara Grace

I took this one of Angel pretending not to be chewing the tree.

Have a great day!

Saturday Wordzzle Challenge: Week 42

This is week 42 of the Saturday Wordzzle challenge. Anyone new to the process can refer back here to find out how it works. I do apologize for the "rhubarb" thing. I tried not put it onto the list but I just couldn't stop myself. I have no idea what the actual history of it is, but my brother and I used to walk around saying that when we were kids and for some reason I have always thought it extremely funny. But still, I'm sorry you all had to deal with it this week. My apologies.

The words for this week's ten word challenge were: think the rain’ll hurt the rhubarb?, B Vitamins, credit card, jolly, angels, mouse, three ring circus, haiku, sponge, copper Mini Challenge: compulsive, trunk, African violets, curiosity, UFO

Here's my ten-word offering for this week:

Though it wasn’t a word commonly used except in regard to Santa Claus, Amanda Jones was, simply put, jolly. She loved life and she loved laughing. She had curly copper red hair, laughing green eyes and a smile that flashed easily and often. Sitting at the computer, she thought about the three ring circus of her daily life and rejoiced in it. Her children were by no means angels, but she took her B vitamins regularly, didn’t worry too much about keeping the house tidy and found ways to keep her creative juices going while the kids were at school. Thank god for her computer and the blogosphere. She quickly logged on and paid her credit card bill and then moved on to a haiku challenge. Use the two assigned words in a poem or poems. She’d already taken care of rhubarb:

Childhood silliness

Think the rain’ll hurt the rhubarb?

Who knows what it means

The second word was proving to be a challenge… She sat absent-mindedly spinning the mouse with her right hand waiting for inspiration. And then it came:

Choose the life you want

Some focus on grief and pain

I will sponge up joy

Life is good, she thought, posting her poems. Maybe I’ll even do some cleaning today.

And here's my mini challenge:

As she watered her African Violets, Sandy compulsively peered out the window, curiosity overcoming whatever fear she had. She could no longer pretend that the UFO had been a figment of her imagination. It was sitting in her yard and the strange being heading towards her front door – he or she looked rather like a tree trunk on legs - was certainly not a Jehovah’s Witness. “Oh my,” she thought, “It’s going to be an interesting day.”

And for the mega challenge:

Harvard J. Mouse nibbled on a B-Vitamin and pondered the wisdom of working for a travelling three ring circus. Compulsive curiosity had gotten him into this mess… that and the fact that he had been born looking like something that came off a UFO, but he wondered some days if it hadn’t been a mistake. Looking at his massive credit card bill, he felt seriously depressed. He would not so much mind paying for the exquisite porcelain statue of Santa and his 10 jolly elves, had Copper his beloved cat, not felt the need to smash them to smithereens within seconds of their arrival in their little RV. “Stay away from those African Violets,” he screamed as the aforementioned cat – no angel ( indeed he was prone to destroy everything within reach and reach everything no matter how hard Harvard tried to secure its safety) - was making an effort to do some pruning. The only way anything was safe was if he put it in the big trunk which rather defeated the joy of having it. But when he wasn’t being naughty (it did happen), Copper was a master hugger and his deep rumbling purr was a comfort against the loneliness of moving from one strange place to another. Without thinking about it, Harvard picked up a sponge and efficiently cleaned up the cat’s latest mess. Today, gloom and loneliness seemed to be overwhelming him. And then his eye fell upon a gift he had received from a friend from the blogosphere. It was a small self-illustrated book of haiku entitled, THINK THE RAIN’LL HURT THE RHUBARB. Just looking at it and thinking about Amanda Jones lifted his gloom. He was looking forward to meeting her when the circus got to LA in a few months.

~~~~~~~~~~~

This week's vanity wordzzle used the words: technology, moonbeam, cork, light switch, birdcage, geisha, museum, alert

"I call it Moonbeam Technology," Fred Feldspar exclaimed ecstatically, his pride of inventorship literally glowing from him. Only the beautiful young Geisha standing beside him showed any signs of alertness. "Ah," she intoned earnestly, "and what does it do, Feldspar-san?" "Why, it doesn't do anything, Kyoko honey, it just is. That's why it's moonbeam; it's unconscious technology, like, say, the way the sound of a cork popping might invoke memories of your drunken father or fancy bird cage could mean any one of a number of things. In a museum, it could be a work of art, but even there if it were empty it could symbolize or invoke feelings of freedom or death or captivity depending on what you bring to it. So, Moonbeam Technology is anything which acts as a kind of a light switch into the subtler regions of the mind, into the unconscious. Get it?" Kyoko nodded sweetly and reminded herself that not all her days would be like this. "Ah so, Feldspar-san. Moonbeam Technology. Very unusual." Feldspar beamed joyfully. He had been heard.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Week's Ten Word Challenge will be: Horny as a toad, Frankenstein’s sister, Greeks bearing gifts, Holiday, Cheese grater, Gridlock, Drip dry, Coffin maker, movie mogul, Turkish coffee

Mini Challenge: prenuptial agreement, The purple cow just hated the orange cat, potato chips, sari, Hammer and nails

Thanks for playing. For those who are new, here are some guidelines to make the process more fun.

Enjoy! See you next week.

DON'T FORGET TO ADD YOUR NAME TO MR. LINKY!!!!!

Skywatch Friday

It's been quite a while since I participated in Skywatch Friday: Between politics and other things, I just didn't feel I could do my part visiting others. I didn't stop taking pictures of the sky, just posting them. Die hard cloud/sky lovers can see all the ones I didn't post here. For today, I probably should have just posted the December 1st shots which are at the lower half of the post, but I had so many old November shots too... This is only late November. And I could have posted all of September. Count yourselves lucky I stopped here. Looking forward to everyone else's skies from around the world.




















On December 1st, the sky just would not stop giving and my camera finally agreed to pick up the color behind my neighbor's trees something it has been refusing to do most days.

Sleep

ZZZZZZZZ............

Well, I guess one is never too old to learn something new... or own the truth of something that isn't so much new as ignored.

Like many people who live alone and who don't go out much, I have developed a habit of keeping very distorted hours. For years I've planned to change this behavior but never done it. My habit has been to stay up until 2 or 3 am and get up between 9 and 10 in the morning. That's 6-7 hours of sleep. It's not terrible behavior. Probably more than many people get even if the hours are a bit skewed. BUT.... I've read research about new studies on the importance of sleep. I've advised others to get more sleep. But do I listen myself? Nope.

Well, whether by coincidence or as a consequence of Dennis Puffet's work on my house, I've been getting myself to bed by 1:30 at the latest for the past 10 days. And oh the difference an hour and a half to 2 hours of sleep makes. I feel more grounded and better physically with each passing day.
I need to watch myself tonight because I'm procrastinating changing the litter box and putting out the garbage, so if I'm not careful, I'll throw a crimp in my new routine because changing the litter and putting the garbage out is just one of those simple things that I turn into an ordeal in my head. Right now for some reason I'm stirring up big anxiety because the Angel gate finally took one kick too many from all the people who have tolerated having to climb over it. So in my head at the moment, I have created fear of a tragic escape as I'm getting the mail or putting the garbage out. Angel has shown no sign of realizing that the gate is gone, but the Basic Worry System has gone into overdrive. So it goes forever on and on in my head.

But back to the subject at hand. I'm hoping to continue my new schedule and maybe even improve on it. We will see. For the moment I'm both pleased and amazed at the difference in how I feel. Cats are smart about sleep. They seem able to sleep anywhere and in any position.

Here are some good sources of information on Sleep Deprivation.

This first one is from Sleepnet.com ... then there's Sleep Deprivation.com. Who know there was an international sleep society? Their site was kind of sleep-inducing so I'm not including it. This last article is from a site called Serendip.

Anyway, passionate lectures about sleep are to be feared if I keep this new behavior up and continue to feel more coherent and alert. But I'd better post this, change the litter box and practice what I'm preaching.

***************************

Totally unrelated to sleep. Shannon took these pictures of Angel enduring the punishment I mete out when she has been exceptionally naughty. It's called the hug-a-thon. See the tortured look on her face? That'll teach her to mess with electric wires! Lest you think me especially unkind, this was not a one sniff offense. Angel in a certain mood is relentless and the more I say no, the more she does something. In this case it was playing with the cord for the Christmas tree. After about 17 warnings and two pick-ups, the hug-a-thon was required. It was a LONG hug. I'm so mean. She's so cute even when she is being a horrible brat.

Diana: A Serial Short Story: Installment 3

(Scroll down for the first two installments. #1 amd #2.)

DIANA
(Installment 3)

by

Katherine E. Rabenau

She awakened in slow stages, sensing the change from dream to waking without really experiencing it. A Bach concerto drifted in behind her eyes and she listened with that layer of her mind which lay between sleep and consciousness, floating in a pleasant fantasy of blue skies and butterflies. Then, quite suddenly, she was awake, on guard. Where was the music coming from? Where was she? And sooner, almost, than the questions formed, she remembered, turned, and found him watching her.

"Good morning."

She smiled. "I forgot where I was. G'morning. . . mmm. . . How strange to be here. Like I haven't really woken up at all, just switched dreams."

"Ah, but I'm real. I'll prove it." He leaned over and kissed her and she met his embrace.

So she moved in with him; unquestioningly, with that same sense of predetermination, like a sleepwalker whose actions emanate from somewhere so deep in the inner consciousness that they seem to be those of another. Not that she was unhappy. She seemed to herself happier than she had ever been. They got along wonderfully. They went everywhere together; to movies, plays, the park, museums. Or they stayed home, talking, words pouring out non-stop. And in the night, the warmth of his presence made her feel safe and content. But still, she was uneasy. And as time passed, her uneasiness grew.

After six months, she still had not seen his paintings. Each time she asked about them, he made an excuse or evaded the question. The room in which he did his painting was kept locked, and he had made her promise not to go in until he invited her. On occasion he would disappear behind this mysterious door for hours, and when he re-emerged, he was silent and withdrawn. He would not even talk about the paintings, and it frightened her somehow. Always when he had been working, she sensed the same malevolence she had felt on first seeing him and she found herself avoiding him on those nights, finding things to do that would give her an excuse to keep silent and apart. She would sleep on those evenings curled up into herself as though even his warmth held something sinister and evil.

He was painting more and more often, growing morose and secretive. Early in the morning he would rise, sit staring at her for a few moments and then stalk off behind the locked door of his studio, often not emerging until supper time, when he would sit, unspeaking, scarcely touching the food before him. Sometimes he would sit silently all evening staring out the window at some unknown vision; sometimes he would put on a coat and go into the night, to where she did not know. He always came back. But the mood remained and she was increasingly afraid. It was a strange, indefinable fear, something that quivered inside her, that haunted her with its persistent elusiveness. Perhaps it was the sense of exclusion, the dread of losing even this uneasy haven against solitude. Much as she had once dreaded being caught in the web, she now clung to it, not wanting to be free, not knowing how.

She became obsessed with the studio. It was the key. When she was alone in the apartment she was increasingly drawn to the locked door, walking past it over and over again, listening in the stillness as though it might suddenly speak to her. Her hand would reach out for the knob, ready to dart back, as though it were a waiting snake, poised to strike. One day she touched it, and the panic went through her with such intensity that she crawled quaking beneath the covers of their bed, a dusty, neglected Bible clutched in her arms like a pagan idol. Finding her like that, he awoke briefly from his own obsession, caressing her gently, trying to cradle her against him, away from whatever it was that had frightened her so. She was unable to explain, but clung desperately to him, trying to ward off the inevitable call of his painting, trying to prolong her moment of peace. But when the night had passed, he turned again into the catalyst of her fear, loosing himself gently from her clutching arms and tip-toeing into the studio. When she awoke to find him gone, she was unable to remember if the night's tenderness had been real or just a dream. She lay staring at the ceiling, aware suddenly that she was on or beyond the edge of madness. She remained there, paralyzed by the conviction that anything she did might push her over the edge, send her falling, falling into the deep cold well of her inner being, to struggle and drown in her terrors, or worse, to tread water endlessly in the dark sea of voices and phantoms which had always surrounded her. She wanted to scream out for him, but she became afraid. What if he didn't come? What if he was part of the madness? What if he opened the studio door and it was in there waiting for her? It mustn't catch her. If she lay very still, perhaps it would miss her, and she would be alright. She would try.

******

That was how he found her that evening when he brought the finished painting out, a portrait of a gentle girl with shy smiling eyes and a slightly impish smile. It was later hailed as a masterpiece, "a brilliant, sensitive work by an artist obviously able to tap into the soul of his subject."

THE END

Ruby Tuesday

(Please scroll down to read the first two installments of my serial short story. The final installment will post at 5 minutes after midnight tonight.)


It's Ruby Tuesday- hosted by Mary/ the Teach at Work of the Poet . I was going to take the week off because I don't have a lot of Christmas themed material and I posted something else too, but then I decided to play anyway. Please make sure to visit all the wonderful photographers from around the world who explore the world of reds.

Angel Joy with the neighbors Christmas lights behind her.
Taking a rare break from being naughty.

An attempt to be creative and take a picture of the fiber optics in the dark. An attempt.

This is the Christmas moose!

He sits under my tree every year, looking silly. This tree is a touch (only a touch) more elegant than my last one which was apparently designed to be hideous. I loved that tree.

Have a wonderful Tuesday!

DIANA: A Serial Short Story: Installment 2

(Scroll down for the first installment.)

DIANA

(Installment 2)

by

Katherine E. Rabenau

She rose quickly and moved toward the next gallery, hoping to defy the premonition, to outdistance her foreboding. She could feel him watching her, knew that he knew, like herself, an inevitability. But she raced on anyway, praying that it was imagination, annoyed at her terror.

"You are ridiculous," she mumbled. "You don't even believe in your own nonsense, yet you behave like a two-year-old in the dark. Just slow down and act your age." And she did, but her senses now were edged, and she saw nothing but a vague shadow hovering behind her.

Still, she was surprised when the hand touched her shoulder and a voice said, "Miss? I believe you dropped this."

She turned to face him, and stared in disbelief, for he held her notebook out to her. "How. . . Thank you," and taking it, she turned to escape.

"You are an artist?"

She pretended not to hear and kept moving, but he was not to be so easily daunted. "You're an artist, aren't you?"

"No, a poet."

"I could see it," he replied. "It shines from you."

She looked at him again and trembled as she felt the first silken strands of the web tighten around her. He was still talking, but she could not bring her mind to focus on what he was saying. She wanted very much to run away, but her feet would not move and she remained in place, nodding like a puppet and smiling woodenly as he rambled on. He didn't seem to notice -- either that or he didn't care. She could not escape and he knew it.

******

But gradually some of his conversation began to seep through. Slowly, she began to listen.

"No, I have never been able to choose one school of painting which I preferred over the others -- or even one artist, for that matter. That Memling you were looking at is one of my favorites, though. Something very commanding about the man. Rather stern at first glance, but in no way cruel. Really a rather gentle, sensitive man, I suspect. Always sort of wish I could meet him."

She nodded. "It's odd. I always feel that I must have know him somehow. That painting makes me believe in reincarnation -- the possibility of it anyway."

"I could tell it was special to you. In fact, I think that's why I started talking to you. What's your name, by the way? Mine's Michael Quinley - the Third. Pretty classy, eh?"

"I'm Diana."

"Well, come on, Diana, let's go home."

An animal fear rose in her; the image of a wild doe frozen in a beam of light flicked across her mind and was gone. "Yes, I really should be on my way. . ."

He took her hand and held it tightly. "Not what I had in mind. I want you to have dinner with me. And you can't say no, because fate has crossed our paths, and I have no intention of letting go of your hand. Come along."

And she did.

They were both silent on the walk to his apartment. He continued to hold her hand, though she had ceased almost immediately to resist, driven by curiosity, by something, to follow, to see this adventure through to whatever consequences might lie in wait.

The apartment was neither Spartan nor plush, but large, filled with books and pictures and non-descript furnishings; marked most especially by large windows at one end which looked out across the river, and on this afternoon, framed a fragile quarter moon. A light breeze drifted in.

"It's a nice place. And you have a view!" She moved toward the window, glad to have something to do. "It's really glorious. I think I'd become so entranced by the view, that I'd never move from the window. But I suppose you get used to it after a while."

"True, but I wouldn't give it up. You get hardened to it after a time, but then every so often you wake up to it again and it's like seeing it for the first time. Know what I mean?" He stood looking out for a long moment, absorbed in some thought beyond them both. Then he turned suddenly and asked, "What would you like for dinner? I could make us some eggs, or a hamburger -- or we could go out and buy some steak. In fact that's what we should do. Steak and wine and candles. What do you say?"

"Sounds pretty good to me."

"OK, then, let's go."

By the time they had finished choosing wine and steaks and planning, she was starting to feel relaxed, starting to look forward to the rest of the adventure.

During dinner, they drank wine, talked about art and life and people, and themselves. Drank more wine and talked on and on. Michael, she discovered, was a painter. They talked about painting and writing, and shared their frustrations and fears about what they did; about whether it was real, whether it would mean anything to anyone but themselves, whether they were pretending to be what fate had not intended they should be, whether they had delusions of grandeur, genius, or something in between. By the time dinner was over they were friends, and she had discovered that he was rather handsome -- at least attractive. The aura of malevolence had almost faded to non-existence.

"Can I see your paintings? I'm always curious to see how. . ."

He got up restlessly. "Not yet. I don't want you to see them yet. Let's wait a while until we know each other better."

"OK." But she was hurt that he didn't trust her. She hadn't shanghaied him to her apartment, after all. He'd started the whole thing. And now. . .

"Look, don't be mad. It's just. . . well, I want you to like me as myself .. . It's like the paintings are separate from me. . . They're me, but only a part of me - or not that quite - they're an identity within me which is both part of me and more than me. I can't explain it quite." He was talking rapidly, pacing up and down in small circles, hands moving, jerking as he talked. "I'm not even certain of what I mean. Just - well, sometimes I use them to make friends - to try and make myself more interesting. Like a four year old trying to get attention by standing on his head, only I yell, 'Look at me! Look! Look! I'm a painter.' And women are supposed to swoon and fall into my arms; men to respect me. . ."

"You, too?" She was relaxed again, laughing.

"You understand, then? You're not angry?"

"Never was. Just felt rejected. I was so afraid of you this afternoon - or of myself - or something. And then I was feeling so happy and relaxed that I didn't expect you to say no. I felt all vulnerable again. But I do understand. I think you're right, too."

He reached out and took her hand and a tremor of anticipation ran through her. "I'm glad you refused to let go of my hand this afternoon. It's been nice." And she laughed nervously, wanting very much for him to kiss her, fearing it as well, thinking she should go home now, before anything happened, but not wanting to.

Then his lips were on hers and she felt herself responding. And the terror swept over her again, stronger than ever, as she felt herself wanting to trust him, wanting to assuage her loneliness in his arms, wanting to be held and kissed and desired, wanting the fantasy she had been raised on. Your prince gallops up, gazes lovingly at you. There is a brief ordeal of some sort, and then he takes you in his arms, kisses you, and you are forever happy, as though that kiss were a magic spell of sorts and wove an invisible armor that nothing could penetrate.

But life was no fairly tale. And as he kissed her again, she felt desire, anger, fear, and hope sweep over her in alternating waves. Her private demons came screaming out of their cages, each one trying to push her in a different direction, so that she clung ever more fiercely to the oblivion of his embrace, wanting him to save her, knowing that he could not -- that he was as apt to be a casualty in the battle as she.

Then she tried to pull herself away. "I ought to go. It's late."

"Go? You can't go now. It's too late." You can stay here. You'll be safe, I promise, if you wish. Really."

She moved away from him to the window. The moon was sharply etched against the night, accompanied by stars. It looked so idyllic. She leaned wearily against the frame.

He started to move toward her, but stopped, and they were both silent for a time, neither one knowing quite what to do, how to bridge the gap which loomed between them. He sat staring at the floor, his hands clasped, and she looked out at the stars, as if they could provide a solution.

"It's such a pretty night," she said at last. He continued to sit, silent. She moved across the room and sat beside him. "Please, Michael, be patient with me. I'm scared."

"Stay, Diana, please, just to be near each other. I'll take you home if you decide to go, but I wish you'd trust me. . . I really want you to stay."

And again she felt the inevitability of her response, as she had from the beginning. She would stay. It had been a foregone conclusion. Resistance had been no more than the last struggle of a moth against the flame. Yet she was glad, too. It was what she wanted, to be here with him -- with anyone. To not be lonely for a change. To lie quiet in someone's arms, warm and protected against tomorrow. Safe for a moment - from what, she wasn't certain. She nodded. "I'll stay," and stood looking at the floor, feeling foolish and defeated to be staying after all.

He too, uncertain, maybe, how to deal with her now, stood a moment, then reached out gingerly to touch her hair, so lightly she could scarcely feel it, but sensed the gentleness, the loneliness that maybe matched her own. She stood, tensed against herself, still unsure of what to do, while with the same tentative touch, he caressed her cheek, nose, eyes, until she leaned her head onto his shoulder, her eyes and body aching with unshed tears.

They sat close in the night quiet for some time, bodies touching lightly, absorbing each other mutely, resting in nearness. Then, finally, they slept, nestled against each other in a deep and innocent sleep.

End of Part 2: Return tomorrow for the final (yes, God is merciful) installment.

DIANA: A Serial Short Story: Installment 1

Well, I was trying to think of how to follow up on a month of gratitude posts and not much was coming to me and then I thought of this idea I had a while back. To post a serial story every day for as long as it takes... mercifully only 3 days. I don't know why I'm doing this. It's a goofy idea on many levels. The story is corny, not very good and was written many centuries ago when I was in my 20s. Writer's vanity, I guess. I hate having all these things that nobody has ever read, even if they aren't any good. So... here's part one of ... It seems to be coming out in a variety of fonts and sizes. I don't know how to fix it so all I can do is apologize.

DIANA

by

Katherine E. Rabenau

There was a running horse. Every night in her dreams the stallion ran; a shadow atop the hill, it ran back and forth, back and forth, while she tried desperately to scale the steep cliff, to reach it before dawn. The cliff rose almost straight. Her loose white gown was in shreds; sharp rocks tore at her. Thorn bushes lashed out like fierce dogs. Her hands were cut and bleeding. Above, the hoofs beat. Their steady pounding trembled in the stone. Every night he ran and she climbed, and every night dawn came before she reached him. Sometimes she came so close she could feel the hot, tired breath against her skin. But she never made it.

*****

The noise of the garbage truck woke her. She imaged the fat steel monster opening its gluttonous jaws to catch the huge chunks of garbage being tossed by the keepers. Then came the cruel whine as it chewed and slobbered and swallowed and opened up for more. She rolled over in bed, trying not to be awake, trying to send her mind back into the sweet depths of unconsciousness, but the monster outside whined on unmercifully and it was no use. She was awake. There was no rule, however, which said she had to open her eyes. She would just lie there. She was not ready for the day, for the endless repetitiousness of it. She could not face it. The monster outside whined on.

Then it started again. The strange images began moving through her brain; thousands of them peopling her mind like a bizarre travelling circus. Sometimes they were so real that the stepped outside of her and became like living beings in the room. They frightened her then, for they came unbidden, and each time it was harder to drive them back inside where she could control them.

Would she one day become one of those demented old hags who roamed the town berating silent, invisible lovers? She remembered a bum, a man in his forties. Last summer she had seen him day after day, dancing, fighting walking with his companions. They were so obviously real to him that she could sense their presence, could almost see them. She did not want to share his fate, to be an oblivious object of curiosity or ridicule.

She had been spending much time alone of late, not exactly avoiding people, simply not seeking them out. She was lonely, but there was no one she could think of at the moment whom she wanted to see, no one with whom conversation would be more than an exercise in courtesy.

Her eyes opened, and with a sudden swing, she was out of bed looking around. "God, what a mess."

She showered, had coffee, and began cleaning half-heartedly, but today the loneliness was more than a whisper in the background. Today it was screaming around her ears, making the confined space of the apartment unbearable. She combed her hair, slipped on a worn blue raincoat, and left.

She would go to the museum and merge with the drifting shadows. She would ask the guards foolish questions, just to hear the sound of her voice, to assure herself that she still existed. And she would watch for others whom the loneliness had already conquered so she could look at herself and whisper, "You are not really lonely yet. You are not like them."

On the bus, she faded quietly into her seat and became absorbed in scenes that passed so quickly that one was no sooner caught up in them than they were gone -- life in miniature. Everything moved too fast. She wondered how those moments ended. Did the quarreling lovers make up? Or the tired young prostitute find a taker?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a woman's voice. The brass agony of it clanged against her as its disembodied raving went on and on, louder and louder, silencing everyone. "You've got to dress nice," it said. "Never work. That's how I lost him -- him spending time with that whore. He said to me, 'If you dressed nicer I'd come back.' But I wouldn't have him. They get diseased from those women. . ." The voice went on and on until the woman departed, still talking, and everyone relaxed. The woman's unhappiness had been real; its distortions could not mask the genuineness of her misery, and her grief hung palpable in the air around them, undispelled by her departure. Diana shuddered. She stared at the silent, immobile faces, each locked in its separate isolation, and shuddered at someone's being lonely enough to bare her soul to a busload of these uncomfortable strangers.

She was grateful when her stop came and she could leave the rolling madhouse for the street and then the cool, high-ceilinged darkness of the museum.

Inside, she roamed aimlessly, moving from room to room, period to period, glancing at the magnificent diversity of human dreams and imaginings with only a small part of her consciousness. Only occasionally did something stop her, reach so deeply into her own being that she was moved despite herself to motionlessness, then to attention.

She saw the faces in the paintings and knew that they were kindred, that they knew a pain much like hers -- an unjustifiable hurt that lived inside. And because it came not from the world or from any force that one could label or blame or rail against, the pain did not satisfy. It only grew, enhanced by the guilt of its own presumptuousness.

The portrait which held her so transfixed now was by Memling. The dark-eyed stranger was nameless, simply, "A Man," but she knew, as she had from moment of seeing him years ago, that he was hers, had always been hers, that she had tasted his lips, his flesh, had felt his thoughts. It was this portrait that made her certain of having lived before, of having known other lives. Beyond doubt, they had loved, this man and she, with a depth few are fortunate to know. Five hundred years ago, they had shared ecstasy, if not happiness. Perhaps he was her loneliness, the missing piece she was always looking for. Maybe. . .

Voices across the gallery startled her back to present reality and she looked around, momentarily confused. A chill went over her as a gaunt figure entered the room, for she knew with the same certainty she felt about the Memling man, that this stranger would intrude upon her solitude and that she would be unable to drive him away although he frightened her, although she despised some malevolence that seemed to emanate from him and to vibrate through the room as he approached.

Come back tomorrow for Installment 2 of 3.